


the memory of you

by cosmofire



Series: food for the dnfers [1]
Category: Dream Team RPF, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Cemetery, Closure, Dancing, Dreams vs. Reality, Fluff, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, No beta we die like dream, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28639170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmofire/pseuds/cosmofire
Summary: He was alone.George shut his eyes. Perhaps if he shut his eyes hard enough- for long enough- he would return to Trafalgar Square. He’d return to London. He’d be back in strong arms. Laughing. Happy. Safe.--In which George finds himself on the other side of town- in front of Dream- in the dead of night.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: food for the dnfers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191971
Comments: 15
Kudos: 62





	the memory of you

**Author's Note:**

> songs that inspired this work:
> 
> rihanna - dancing in the dark (slowed and reverb)  
> harry styles - fine line  
> sleeping at last - touch

They were running down Whitehall. The glow of Big Ben slowly faded behind them as they galloped - hand in hand - towards Trafalgar Square. Huge grins were plastered on their frozen faces, scarves flapping in the wind as they ran and ran. Dream let out a bellowing laugh and pushed his legs to work faster, dragging George along behind him and ignoring his feeble protests of the sudden decision to sprint.

“Dream!” George laughed. “Slow down! Please!”

Dream ignored his pleads, and instead sent him a wild grin. He led them both towards the large fountain surrounded by the large lion statues and vintage street lights. Gorgeous restaurants and houses circled the square, soft light poured out of the windows where the night owls lived, and the two fountains in the centre of the square glowed a brilliant purple that cast over the lion statues - painting them in purple hues. The National Gallery that stood proudly behind the fountains was absolutely _magnificent_ , its light illuminated the night sky so much that the sky was a royal blue instead of its usual black. And although the area was very well-lit, if you squinted _just_ enough, you’d be able to make out the slight glows of stars a million lightyears away.

George had been here a hundred times before, but tonight it was _magical_. Well- perhaps he could’ve appreciated it more if he wasn’t so out of breath.

“So?” Dream announced, stepping back and spreading his arms out with a grin. They stood in between the two glowing fountains; Napoleon’s Statue behind George, and the National Gallery behind Dream.

George sent him a teasing frown. “Why are you asking me? You’re the one seeing it for the first time.”

“That’s true,” Dream agreed. He slowly spun around to digest the sight surrounding the two men, before facing George again with a smile. “It’s beautiful.”

George nodded and tugged his beanie back over his ears, for it had slipped away during their spontaneous run from Downing Street. “It sure is,” he sighed, his breath coming out as a misty cloud.

Dream held out a gloved hand for George to take. “C’mere.”

George took his hand, and was immediately yanked flush against his chest. He leant back and raised his eyebrows at Dream, but the blond just sent him a lopsided grin and started to sway them from side to side.

“Dream, what are you doing.”

“ _We_ are dancing.”

Normally, George would never dance - or act - like this in public. It was something that he preferred to keep private and for Dream’s eyes only. However, it was the week that sat in between Christmas and New Years - everyone was cuddled up at home waiting for something interesting to happen.

Oh- and they were out at an ungodly hour in the morning.

George chuckled. “Right… where’s the music?”

“In my head.”

“But I can’t hear it.”

Dream immediately started singing Rihanna’s ‘Dancing In The Dark’ - much to George’s displeasure. Although Dream could sing - very well, in fact - George clamped a gloved hand over his mouth to mute the horrendous sounds that he was making. “Why’d you have to sing purposefully bad? You just have to ruin everything, don’t you?” George smiled gently, letting out a small chuckle.

Dream pulled George’s hand away from his mouth and placed it on his shoulder, then guided George’s other arm to wrap around his neck. He then wrapped his own arms around George’s waist to pull him closer - forcing George to lean up onto his tip toes. “You ask too many questions,” he whispered, a ghost of a smile danced on his lips.

“They’re for good reason.”

“Just shut up and dance with me.”

George sighed and rested his head against Dream’s chest. They swayed in time to Dream’s heart beat. It was the rhythm _and_ the melody. George closed his eyes and smiled into his boyfriend’s winter jacket. It was warm.

“D’you think the lions are protecting us?”

George didn’t react. “They’re statues, Dream.”

“God, you have no imagination,” Dream sighed dramatically. “What’s it like in that boring head of yours?”

“Pretty boring.”

Dream let out a laugh. George lifted his head at the sound and quickly found the other’s eyes. To him, Dream’s eyes were a muted yellow - borderline grey - with specks of… brown? It didn’t matter. He had seen the true colours through his colourblind glasses enough to be able to picture their playful pine green glow, and they were gazing down at him with affection. 

George smiled, and reached up to pull Dream’s bobble hat back over his ears, tucking the escaped tufts of hair back underneath the hem. “You’re pretty.”

“I know,” the blond replied with a shit-eating grin, and burst into laughter when George lightly hit him on the shoulder. Dream’s eyes crinkled softly at the edges as he chuckled, the purple glow from the fountains lit up his face - highlighting the light dusting of freckles on his cheekbones. “Thank you, George.”

“ _George?_ ”

He blinked. 

Dream faded away. The dazzling street lights burnt out. Cold December air was replaced by heavy raindrops sinking into his clothes, his skin, his bones. His scarf and coat had disappeared, instead a thin grey t-shirt clung to his slim and shivering frame. The gleeful laughs and soft chuckles that had surrounded him- that had filled him up with warmth and comfort- made him feel _safe_ \- were gone. Silence enveloped him: constricted him until he felt like he _couldn’t breathe_. His knees wobbled. The dew from the grass had been soaked up by his vans and moisture had flooded his socks, making his feet numb.

He was alone.

George shut his eyes. Perhaps if he shut his eyes hard enough- for long enough- he would return to Trafalgar Square. He’d return to London. He’d be back in strong arms. Laughing. Happy. _Safe_.

The silence that had enclosed him was shattered with laughter. _God_ , it taunted him. The sound echoed around his head, suffocating him. No longer was it comforting or warm, it had turned bitter, malicious, _mocking_. It was laughing at him, and he _couldn’t breathe._

_Go away. Please… go away._

“George!”

His eyes snapped open, a deep gasp wracked through his body as if he’d just been doused in freezing water. His lungs ached and his heart felt as though it was pulsing through his chest. 

_What the hell?_

He was cold. So, so cold. Clenching his fists, he finally _looked_ , and found himself standing in ankle-high grass under the dark illumination of the moon - rain lashing down with no remorse. Ahead of him; a mound of soaking wet dirt, headed by wilting flowers and scuffed laminated bits of paper pinned to a dark, looming stone.

_Oh._

George wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there. His usual better judgment had clearly failed him _again_ , and he couldn’t even _begin_ to wonder how he’d walked all the way from his apartment downtown to the cemetery, for it was a good 2 mile trek. This was the third time this month, and he was getting pretty sick of it. Why couldn’t he just let Dream _go_? He had been dead for months, but George always found himself back in front of his grave - day or night. 

A fiery rage built up in the pit of George’s stomach. He scowled at the grave, suddenly having the desire to curse at the pile of wet dirt. 

_Why did you have to go? Why did you leave me? Why?_

But the words died in his throat, causing a burning ache to rip through his throat and claw at the back of his tongue. He swallowed hard, and glared at the sorrowful words carved into the gravestone. 

He always asked too many questions. No wonder he never got any answers.

A hesitant hand landed on his shoulder, gently pulling him to his left and away from the pile of dirt. He let himself be guided away.

“C’mon, buddy. Let’s go home.”

Sapnap’s hand moved from his shoulder, and instead an arm wrapped around George’s shoulders as they turned away from the grave. In spite of the pouring rain, warmth suddenly spread into George’s shoulders. 

It wasn’t the crashing tsunami that he had felt with Dream. It wasn’t the stolen kisses during the day, or the lazy morning scratches on Sundays, or the bubbling giggles as they chased one another through a department store, or the nervous glances at family gatherings. It wasn’t the overwhelming feeling of adoration whenever Dream told George how important he was, or how it felt to be tugged _impossibly_ closer, or the sound of Dream’s voice and the way it turned soft and gentle for George, or his smile- _God,_ his smile… 

It wasn’t any of that.

It was like a soothing crackling fire. It was the feeling of a blanket being draped over your shoulders when you’ve cried every last tear, it was the feeling of a hug so full of love that you feel like it _might just_ be okay in the end, it was the smell of chicken noodle soup bubbling on the stove. It was hesitant chuckles when you don’t know whether you should laugh or cry, it was the autumn leaves crunching underneath your feet, it was kind smiles and early nights, it was sitting under the night sky watching the stars with a mug of hot chocolate and marshmallows.

It was the feeling of healing. It was _home_.

George peered up at Sapnap through wet eyelashes, the curves of his mouth pulled up into a small smile.

“Okay.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hiya! i was brainrotting dnf a bit while trying to write a multi-chapter that im working on rn and this just rolled out of me!!  
> second time writing dnf... expect more in the future :D
> 
> follow me on twitter [here!](https://twitter.com/twcosmofire) would love some more writing friends :]
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated and always welcome! i hope you enjoyed <33


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